


To Be; To Love

by arisinnin



Category: The Glass Scientists (Webcomic), The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Alcohol, Character Study, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Canon, could be read as an au or prequel, love yourself, selfcest vibes, we're tagging that bc it's Heavy selfcest vibes okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28162989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arisinnin/pseuds/arisinnin
Summary: Hyde goes for a drink, Jekyll takes a second or a small eternity to think about just how lucky he is to be here.Some character study about Henry's strange double life and the love he holds for his alter ego.
Relationships: Edward Hyde/Dr. Henry Jekyll
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	To Be; To Love

**Author's Note:**

> The full title would technically be To Be and To Love Edward Hyde, but I felt like it was snappier and more poetic sounding shortened. 
> 
> The context to this is we got to thinking about how the fire was the first Real Fight that Jekyll and Hyde had, and that for two years prior they’d been getting along rather well all things considered, hyde ribbing jekyll for the body but otherwise considering them both closer than Anything (that monologue in the police station anyone?). 
> 
> Do keep in mind, the characterizations are pretty ooc tgs wise, more my own invention/merging the original strange case with tgs than trying to emulate any One canon, but timeline wise this takes place some weeks to months before tgs canon. Could be read as an au, could be read as canon, I don’t care, I just wanted Jekyll being weak af for Hyde and some exploration on their connection.
> 
> So, without further ado, something gay.

Henry couldn't very well remember the name of the bar they'd swaggered into tonight. There were about a dozen nearly identical pubs across this side of London alone, each with an almost exact mix of scents in the air, heavy with liquor and smoke and the familiar burning of London's infamous smog. It was almost homely by now, being so familiar as it was to the pair. 

Edward Hyde had confidently strode up to the bar keeper as though he were a regular here (and for all he knew, he was. it really was hard to keep faces and places straight with how shitfaced they always got), dragging poor, gentlemanly, and downright prudish Henry Jekyll right along with him. 

It would surely be a scandal for a man of Henry's stature to be seen in such a hole-in-the-wall, so it was a lucky thing he _wouldn't_ be. That was, as Hyde so pluckily loved to remind him, what Hyde was _for_ , after all. 

Henry could watch Hyde indulge in every sinful delight he couldn't, a voyeur in his own body, or rather in Hyde's, and Henry's precious reputation would never see hide nor tail of it. After all, Edward Hyde and Henry Jekyll were completely different people, were they not? Whatever Edward Hyde did in no way pertained to the good moral stature of Henry Jekyll, no sir. To suggest otherwise would be conspiracy at best, and pure lunacy at worst.

Ah, but come to find, it was neither conspiracy nor lunacy but pure unrivaled _genius_ that now sat Henry front row to Hyde's misdeeds. Henry Jekyll had manufactured freedom through medical science, a freedom in its completion unrivaled by naught else but perhaps death itself. However, it ran completely and utterly parallel. For in this, you see, Henry Jekyll was _alive._ More so than he could ever stand to admit to anyone, not his papers nor his closest friends and not even the wisest of holy men or altars, like this, he was _alive._ Among the barflies and the drunkards, the harlots and the heretics, Henry Jekyll felt life in his veins as though it were liquid ambrosia, euphoric and all but set alight, and Edward Hyde himself was living proof.

True to form, Edward orders a drink, something frivolously expensive that was surely outright impolite to order, alone as Hyde seemingly is, and he shoots the barkeep a furtive wink when he tips much too generously for their pockets' sake. Henry meanwhile is all but consumed whole with how _right_ it all feels. The sight of the candle lit hall, practically buzzing and humming with the sound of its patrons, living and _breathing_ as one great beast, so purely _alive,_ as they themselves were… 

It's so simple: a quaint nameless bar, furnished with a handful of quaint nameless people, painted quaintly in candlelight, stumbled in and out of on some clear, quaint, equally nameless night. And yet, at once, it's more. 

It is freedom. It is beauty. It is _life_ in its purest form, refined and perfected yet more once blurred around the edges with a drink.

The barkeep returns with Hyde's alcohol, pouring till the glass threatens to overflow and leaving the bottle behind, not even having to be told. _Perfect._

Hyde grins and nods at the man, taking the glass, careless of his grip and causing it to slosh about. It inevitably spills, wetting Hyde's fingers and the poor bar below, but it's hardly Hyde's job to care about such petty things. Messes are his job to make, not to fret over. It is his job furthermore to enjoy, indulge, and consume until he no longer can, and that is _exactly_ what he does. 

He brings the glass up, toasting to nothing in particular, perhaps everything, perhaps nothing at all, and without further care, tips the whole thing back to gulp down without worrying about taste, savoring only the way it scorches his throat and warms his gullet.

Meanwhile, in the form of shadows cast by lamplight, in the gleam of the glass in Edward's hand and the very bottle of liquor awaiting further use, Dr. Jekyll admires his handiwork. 

It's hard not to feel an unreasonable pride in these warm moments between them, where Hyde is content simply letting Jekyll absorb the scene. Where it seems there is nothing but the two of them and endless worldly pleasures to drown themselves in, where tomorrow shall never come and Henry Jekyll himself is but a dream, foggy and translucent upon awakening. Where there is only the night in its promises, where there is only Edward Hyde. Jekyll admires him with an ardor that borders unabashed: the proud ardor of a scientist toward his most favored experiment, the sweet and gentle ardor of a secret love towards their stolen other, so sat Jekyll, silently admiring both every similarity Hyde bore to his own countenance and every striking difference. 

He created that. He alone created, from the base of his own flesh and blood, this stranger in his skin, this living terror to chill and soothe his mind in equal measures. He too then created this moment, the drink at Hyde's lips and coating his fingers as though to incriminate him, mark his avarice in either blood or honey: sticky, sweet, and sinful. 

From Henry’s lowest point, where he could see nothing in store for himself, nothing to push forward for, nothing but monochrome greys overlaying his efforts at becoming the perfect gentleman he knew, _he knew,_ he'd never be able to become… from that unrivaled suffering… came _this._ He _created this_ . _Color_ , vibrancy, _life abundant_ as can be rivaled by nothing else. He created Edward Hyde, _became_ Edward Hyde, and thus created the very future for himself that he before could not fathom. A future of endless possibilities, a future entirely new and his own as much as Edward's, shared and bottomless.

In moments like these, it feels worth it to have suffered so, if only to be so still and at peace now, and to appreciate just what a miraculous thing it is.

"Having fun already, are we?"

Hyde's voice suddenly startles Henry from his reverie. He turns to find Hyde smirking at him as he pours himself another glass, full near brimming over the glass' lip just as the first was. 

As much as Hyde's purpose in existence is to free his creator, he also takes a good amount of pride in being a massive thorn in his creator's side for his own amusement, and now especially, it isn't hard to see he plans on making good on that shortly.

"You've been practically _vibrating_ since we got here, not to mention the downright _lovesick_ little smile you've been wearing since we got our wits about us," Hyde continues. "Something you'd like to share, my dear?"

Henry huffs, his embarrassment returning in a familiar shroud. As much as he is Hyde, they are both quite aware of who the better half is supposed to be. Lest Henry lose himself entirely to temptation, it is a role he must continue to bear up.

“Nothing that would interest you, I assure you.”

“Oh? And what makes you so sure? From the pallor of your face, I’d chance a bet on the contrary.”

Caught. Henry tended to forget: as much as he found Hyde fascinating, Hyde seemed to regard him similarly. He couldn’t help but wonder, who toyed with who? Whose feathers brushed against whose fangs? Could either of them be neatly categorized as neither predator nor prey?

“... Perhaps you _would_ be interested, I’ll not deny it. But I refuse to tell you.”

Hyde guffawed, incredulous.

“How honest, Doctor! But now I’m _curious._ ”

“I’ve set my foot down; I’ll not tell you. Return to your drink.”

“You know I _hate_ being told what to do.”

“Then simply do as you please.”

Hyde scoffed, giving the doctor a halfhearted pout and a glare to match. 

“Are you _trying_ to be maddening? Is that what you’re doing, _infuriating_ a _madman?_ What is it that drives you? Morbid curiosity? Spite?”

Despite the bitter words, Hyde’s tone remained light and playful, a smile playing across his lips, sweetened with drink. That was yet another thing Henry found fascinating about Hyde: his simplicity of temperament. When he was angry, he was consumed completely, and when he felt comfortable and content, he was so quick to revel in it. He let himself feel so strongly whatever he felt moment to moment with nary a care to his past nor his appearance. 

Why, take him now, murmuring conspiratorially into the open air as though no one could hear. Given, to be fair, he still blended perfectly with his surroundings. There was no one to pay mind to the antics of a single drunkard, very well faceless as Hyde was here with no reputation to uphold. After all, for one to call him mad, they would first have to pay mind to the antics of each of the other patrons. Those too gone on opium to keep upright, those eyeing others up for a fight over nothing at all, those pressed too close to each other to be mistaken for decent. Hyde was a single one among them, simply laughing at jokes of his own invention. Among criminals and degenerates, among the common filth of London, tonight, (for now,) Edward Hyde looked nothing more than one of the crowd, and not even a particularly eye-catching one. 

It was an unfathomable task for someone like the prestigious Doctor Henry Jekyll to blend into such a scene, at least not without a good amount of staring first and whispers throughout, but it was as natural for Hyde to accomplish as breathing, as walking on his own two feet, as eating and drinking.

Jekyll sighs to himself, fond.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about!” Hyde immediately interjects. “You’ve got this stupid dreamy look on your face. What is it! Why must you torture me so. Just tell me what you’re thinking about. I may _live here,_ but I can’t very well read your mind!”

“Hyde, please, keep your voice down. You’ll attract attention.”

_“You’re_ deflecting the question. Why even linger out here if all you’re going to do is pique my interest and then say it’s ‘nothing’? I know you well, and I know that isn’t _nothing,_ you ass.”

Though a reprimand for Hyde’s crude language rose to Henry’s tongue at once, in the end, he decided to let it go with a sigh.

"Can't you leave it be?"

"If it bothers you so much, then absolutely not."

Jekyll groaned, still half fond but half annoyed at once. Hyde truly prided himself on being so utterly contrary to Henry that it often became a vice. However, it hardly seemed worth the effort at hiding the truth when Hyde was so adamant on wrenching it from him. He knew with patience, he could outlast Hyde’s petulance, simply wait for him to become occupied in someone else’s company or some petty barfight. However, even this would be a meaningless diversion. Hyde was stubborn when he wanted to be, and there was no guarantee he would be left alone the moment Hyde’s occupation passed.

“It’s just…”

Hyde looked to him intently, green eyes aglow with curiosity and the telltale glimmer of victory in convincing his creator to concede.

Henry continued. “... I suppose I’ve been looking forward to tonight as you have. That’s all.”

_“Oh?”_ Hyde quickly finished off his second glass of the evening, leaning in to grin wickedly at Henry’s reflection at once. “Don’t tell me… the great Dr. Henry Jekyll’s admitting now to needing a _break? Aching_ to spend some alone-time with little old _me?_ How scandalous! How _precious,_ doctor!”

Henry buried his face in his hands at once, feeling the familiar sensation of heat rushing to his face in his embarrassment despite the incorporeal form he now took. Despite even this, he could feel himself smiling.

“Yes, yes, I know. Shout it off the rooftops, why don’t you?”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that? I think I much prefer it being a secret for me alone, you see.” Hyde pours himself his third glass, licking his lips. “It makes it much more… _special._ Is it not my _job_ after all to savor such moments? My _birthright?"_

Henry hummed, tilting his head as he observed Hyde curiously now once more.

This much was too something Henry found quite fascinating: Hyde could _very_ easily ruin him little by little. His pristine image as a doctor, a philanthropist, a _gentleman,_ Hyde could put holes in it all, being closest to him, embodying all he tried so desperately to hide away from the world. 

However, he seemed to prefer keeping Henry’s secrets as close to his chest as Jekyll himself did. While he loved to taunt and tease Henry with them, those damning little secrets never left the confines of the two of them.

What did Hyde gain from being both Henry’s demon and his conscience if not leverage against him? What satisfaction did he draw in simply… knowing?

Ah, but listen to him. A scientist, a man locked in constant desperate pursuit of as much knowledge as he could hoard, now asking what _his alter ego_ would want with simple _knowledge_.

There was simply no such thing as too much, was there? Not for men such as them. 

Perhaps Hyde was intended to be his opposite, but by the same token, he was Jekyll's equal. Where one ended and the other began was such a blurry line, it was impossible to say for certain if there was a line at all.

"I suppose it is," Henry finally concluded, but Hyde, for all his badgering before, was no longer listening, instead beginning to hum up a familiar old tune to himself as he set to watching the other patrons. Something from far away and long ago: an old Scottish folksong that they’d- _Henry,_ had enjoyed as a child.

It was hard to remember they had not always been… well, plural. Once upon a time, Henry Jekyll was simply that and nothing more, a single person with but one face and a single name to match. 

After nearly two years now, it would be two years come autumn, he mused, it was now hard to imagine a Jekyll without Hyde, bearing up all he did, and all on his own. It was hard to imagine a day without Hyde grumbling at least once about some inane thing or another, providing his input with or without Jekyll’s asking.

It was hard to remember a weekend so utterly alone, whether holed up in his office or his laboratory or even his bedroom at the home that he so rarely used now. It was hard to imagine a time he could not simply brew himself up a flask full of HJ7 and leap from one form to the next, from the stagnancy and expectations of high society into the temptations and wonders of the night abound.

At the end of the day, he supposed he was forever grateful his initial experiment on the human soul didn’t go quite as planned. That he did not unlock the key to purging himself of his vices, but manifesting and feeding them properly. 

He supposed if he was to be entirely honest with himself, if not to Hyde, he was glad he found a companion within his personal demon.

It was, after all, what he needed most.

More than anything, be it simple poise or outright perfection. A companion he didn’t feel such a need to impress or charm. Simply another that knew the bitterest darkest parts of him yet still stayed by his side just the same.

Hyde, be it as his companion or his tormentor, was content at least to hover over his shoulder curiously, whisper every sort of temptation, appraise and belittle the doctor familiarly as naught but one’s personal demon can, a familiar fiend born of the soul itself. 

It wasn’t quite ‘friendship’ as Jekyll had ever known it, but it was closer than anything, anyone. Closer than a wife, than even an eye, intertwined and guiltily, happily so.

It was everything he needed.

Perhaps that made it a perverse sort of... 

arrogant... narcissistic...

_love?_

Henry Jekyll watched from Hyde’s peripherals as the flaxen haired devil forewent the glass and at once chugged greedily from the bottle, alcohol running from his lip to drip shamelessly from his chin, cold on their skin and blazing within their throat and liberating them both.

_… love._

Minutely, almost imperceptibly, the doctor nodded a confirmation.

He _loved_ this. He loved _being_ like this, so _free_ in body and spirit. He loved to _be Hyde._

What’s more, he loved Hyde himself. As an extension of Jekyll, as Hyde’s own man independent of him. Whatever he was, Jekyll _loved him._

He was evil. He was wild. He was beautiful. He was everything Jekyll sought after but could never admit to, every sordid desire and every morbid fantasy come to life.

His dearest secret. His proudest creation.

_How he loved him so._

Tonight they would lay in a familiar stranger’s bed, love someone briefly, all biting teeth and soothing tongue, and the conjoined pair would laugh amongst themselves conspiratorially as though they were reckless children, telling wild tales and confessing wilder dreams. Just the two of them, young and ruinous in the night’s great park, playing carefree evermore. Their company would not know of Hyde’s counterpart and it would stay quiet as though but a joke shared between the two to laugh at when nothing in all actuality was funny at all.

They would be gone with the sunrise, their temporary partner’s kiss on their cheek to bid them farewell, perhaps till next week or perhaps till forever, till never again, the fading starlight at their heels as they sneak back into the society to continue their facade anew.

Henry Jekyll would awake as though from a pleasant dream with phosphor and salt still leaking from his mouth and eyes, still feeling light and free from his night of debauchery, laughter still on his lips, the only traces of the night he gets to treasure as the alcohol and kisses fade to naught but memory.

The morning light would glare revealing upon perfect gentleman Dr. Jekyll, though it would yet find nothing of Mr. Hyde.

And if during the day, Jekyll should hear the giddy whispers of his serpent’s temptations, the still excited recounts of the night before and the wicked encouragements spurring a repeat performance, then he will pretend he cannot hear.

Just the same, however, he will smile a touch brighter, and he will find his shoulders subtly less sloped and his easy charm ever so slightly less clandestinely forced.

For he is every bit Henry Jekyll as he is Edward Hyde, and as impatient as Hyde is, as anxious for the first sign of freedom, so is he. Their next night together cannot come quickly enough, and he will love every moment the same way he loves the very man he spends them with, spends them as.

So their cycle will spiral madly on, a life of stolen firsts and seconds, a life of rebirth never knowing death, a life double and dastardly and their own.

Forever shall they love this way; not even at death shall they part.


End file.
